


Six Hundred Miles

by Got_Well_Soon



Series: Skate AU [3]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Love, Same-Sex Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8284705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Got_Well_Soon/pseuds/Got_Well_Soon
Summary: Max is away from home on business. A sweet little slice of Pricefield married life. Third in the Skate series.





	1. Chapter 1

Max walked up to the truck, cowboy boots crunching in the gravel drive. These had seemed the thing to wear when visiting Montana, and with her long brown hair, checkered Pendleton shirt, boot-cut jeans, and aging, enormous pickup truck, she could almost pass for a local. Until she opened her mouth, anyway.

She climbed into the driver’s seat, slammed the heavy door. She had a long drive ahead; Butte to Seattle would take 10 hours at the very least. It was just after dawn, and cold, but as the sun rose over the mountains to the east, it would heat up fast, and the truck didn’t have air conditioning. They didn’t need it in Seattle, but Max sure missed A/C when she found herself this far inland in the summer, where the ocean breeze she was accustomed to was replaced by a hot, dusty, desiccating wind. Stepping out into it always reminded her of opening the door of a hot oven.

Despite the lack of creature comforts, there would be no replacing this truck. For Chloe it was the symbol of her hopeful future, the chariot which had carried her away from Arcadia Bay and into Max’s arms. For Max, it had always been the number one accessory completing the picture of grown-up Chloe, blue-haired and bad-ass. If she tried, she could almost imagine Chloe without it. Almost.

By rights the old monster had no business being on the road anymore, but it had been kept alive, even improved, by the deft mechanical stewardship of David Madsen. The arrangement had begun before Max started college, and had, over time, helped heal the rift between David and Chloe. It had come up, oddly enough, over dinner on a visit to Arcadia Bay, when he had decided to question Max and Chloe’s relationship.

“You move up to Seattle, and now you two are living this gay lifestyle…”

“You think it's a _lifestyle?!_ ” Chloe had sputtered.

Joyce had winced, “David, we talked about this…”

He kept digging. “You’re both so young, I just think you’re making a mistake.”

Max almost choked on her food. “A _mistake?!”_

“I am _not_ listening to this. I’m out.” Chloe pushed back from the table, headed for the door. “Max, you coming?”

“No, I’m… gonna finish my dinner.”

“Fine. Whatever.” The front door slammed, and Chloe was gone.

_Lighthouse,_ Max thought. Under the table, she pulled out her phone, texted Chloe. “Will catch up, trying to talk sense. Love you. xo”

David sighed and grimly returned his attention to his food, while Joyce stared at him in silent frustration.

Max took a deep breath, willed herself to relax. His being a pigheaded asshole didn’t really affect her. She lived hundreds of miles away and this was not her family. “David. This is not something we chose. I didn’t _decide_ to fall in love with Chloe, it just happened, it’s who I am. I can’t control that any more than you can.”

“But why can’t…”

She cut him off. “You’ve got this attitude that we’re doing something weird, or wrong, and it’s bullshit. You belittle our relationship and you belittle us, and you need to start thinking about me and Chloe the same way you think about yourself and Joyce. Because it’s the same thing!”

He blinked, hung his head. “Joyce... is the best thing that ever happened to me.” Joyce reached out and took his hand, under the table.

“Exactly! And it’s not easy, by the way. She had it worse than me, she figured out she was gay when she was eleven. She went _six years_ without ever telling anybody how she felt, not even me! Do you know her friends here, in Arcadia Bay, still don’t know? When we see them, we act like we’re just friends, because she’s still afraid of how they’ll react? In Seattle we can be out in the open and nobody bats an eye. It’s not a _lifestyle,_ it’s just being honest about who we are.”

“David,” Joyce said, “Max is absolutely right. It’s part of the reason I let Chloe move.”

He looked at her, a little sad. “I guess I never thought about it that way. We didn’t have any gays in the service…”

“You had plenty, but you served under Don’t Ask Don’t Tell!” Max said, “They had to keep it secret. And don’t call us ‘gays’.”

He looked away, spoke wistfully. “The world keeps changing on me, I can’t keep track of what’s up and down anymore. I just want what’s best for Chloe, I wish I could make her understand that.”

“Then you need to stop questioning how she lives her life and start actually _helping!_ ” Max gestured toward the front of the house. “That truck is falling apart. You know she can’t afford to fix it. Have you ever even _offered_ to take a look at it?”

“It’s not _my_ truck.”

“But she _is_ your family, or at least you want her to be.”

“Maybe… maybe you’re right, Max. I could give it a once-over. It’s pretty old but… sometimes that makes things easier to fix.”

“That would be big of you.” Max stood up. “I’m going to go catch her and bring her home, and if you’re smart you’ll apologize, even if she gets in your face.”

“I… will. I am sorry, Max.”

Once David had spent a little time under the hood, his enthusiasm for restoring old clunkers had taken hold. Over the ensuing years the truck had become a working symbol of defiance of the laws of automotive entropy. It had absorbed a new, far more efficient engine, new brakes, suspension upgrades, and about a thousand smaller things, the parts costing more than they would have paid for a newer, more sound vehicle. But this was way cooler.

Max turned the ignition, heard the modern engine purr to life, missed the clattering roar of the old V8. Six hundred miles to home, six hundred to Chloe. Too long apart. The truck eased down the gravel drive, turned onto the highway, and accelerated away from the sun.

* * *

Chloe stepped off the bus with her longboard in the crook of her arm, carrying her helmet by its straps. Nice of them to put a bus stop at the very top of this hill. She looked out at the view, water and house-dotted hills spreading in all directions, downtown in the distance. The sky was typical Seattle gray. The sun might come out later, might not. You never knew.

She dropped the board, strapped on the helmet, stuffing her blue locks up out of the way. She hated the headgear, it made her feel like a dork every time she put it on. On her own, she wouldn’t wear it; her survival instinct never really kicked in that way. But when she’d objected to it, Max had asked Chloe to imagine her “getting the call”, and the discussion had ended. So Chloe figured her instinct to stick as close as possible to Max “I don’t think that’s a good idea” Caulfield was a pretty good substitute for a normal sense of self-preservation.

But she wasn’t Max Caulfield anymore, Chloe reminded herself, she was Max Price. Chloe chuckled, recalling the conversation which had led to this absurd name. “Max Price Photography?!” she had objected. “Nobody’s gonna hire you with a name like that!”

“It’ll be Maxine Price Photography,” Max had said. “People who call me Max don’t use my last name anyway. And Chloe Caulfield’s no better, the alliteration is painful.”

“Maybe we could come up with a new name? Caulpr… ew. Pricefield? That’s got a decent ring to it.”

“Sounds like a discount big-box store. ‘You’ll save a bundle at Pricefield!’ No way.”

“Ugh, good point. Still, seriously babe, Max Price is ridiculous. Maybe we should just keep our names.”

“I kind of like that it’s ridiculous!” Max said. “I always thought Caulfield was boring. And also, it’s your dad’s name and… I want to take it in his honor, be part of his family. I want to be a Price.”

“That… makes sense I guess. Mrs. and Mrs. Max and Chloe Price. I do like the sound of that.”

“Plus, come on,” Max said, smirking and gesturing down at her skirt, “we both know who wears the pants in this relationship.”

“Oh yeah?! We’ll see about that! Gimme!” Chloe exclaimed, stripping off her jeans and attempting to steal Max’s skirt. She had gotten it, eventually.

Chloe looked down the road, couldn’t see anybody coming or going. Time to roll. She stepped onto the board, kicked once, and let the downhill slope accelerate her. Once she was moving, she started arcing back and forth, up a bit into side streets and slopes, managing her speed. She rolled past dense trees on either side, cut occasionally by a driveway with some big house visible behind it. It was a nice area, the sort of place you aspired to if you were into square footage, three-car garages, and “good schools”. Whatever those were.

Here and there she spun the board, did a few simple tricks, just to keep her feet busy, but she couldn’t get too fancy on a board like this. Reaching a flat stretch, she coasted, pulled out her phone, snapped a quick selfie, sent it to Max. Who’d be home today, at last. Chloe had been stuck in her own head for entirely too long and was climbing the fucking walls.

Max should be somewhere in the Montana mountains by now, maybe crossing into Idaho. Not much longer now.

* * *

I-90 wove through the mountains, bracketed on both sides by dry hills, sparsely covered with smallish conifers. Here and there a small town, or an isolated gas station, but even on this main route, it was sparsely-populated country. Even Arcadia Bay seemed metropolitan by comparison; it was small, but the towns on the coast were pretty close together and Portland wasn’t really that far away. Out here, you were a long way from everything.

The truck hit a pothole, and the cargo in the back clattered loudly. Max looked in the rearview mirror, checking the tarp and ropes holding everything together for any signs of loosening. She’d spent an hour the previous night winching everything down at tightly as she could; the prints themselves were easy enough to reproduce, but the big frames were not cheap and a pain in the ass to put together. It would have been a lot easier if she’d had help.

The exhibitions had gone reasonably well, she’d sold several pieces and gotten some solid leads on commission work. The taste out here was different from the Seattle scene, people were interested in a bigger range of her work. She’d also worked in several shoots, making the most of the trip.

Still, it was a long-ass drive and she hated leaving Chloe behind. Coffee for one. Meals for one. Bed for one. She had a terrible time trying to fall asleep. She tried to work out how many nights she’d slept alone since Chloe had moved to Seattle, in high school. Not many. A few holidays they’d split up for ( _that_ had sucked), that one bad weekend in college, a couple of shorter work junkets. This trip had significantly increased the total.

Her phone buzzed. She glanced over at it, saw a selfie of Chloe wearing her helmet, bits of blue hair poking out the edges. Must be skating. At least one of them was having fun. Four hundred miles to home.


	2. Chapter 2

Chloe regarded the storefront. A handful of mannequins sported all sorts of ridiculously impractical, lacy underwear. One was decked out in some frilly thing which may or may not have been meant to be a dress, Chloe wasn’t sure. Above it all, the shop’s name was traced out in elegant, but nearly illegible, calligraphy. This was _so_ not her kind of place. But she needed help.

She stepped inside, and was immediately greeted by a girl in a very tight t-shirt. No way those boobs were real. Chloe wondered how many of the customers here were men. “Hi I’m Lauren, how can I help you today?” Lauren must have been running a major perky-pill habit to support this level of enthusiasm.

“Yeah I need some new…” Chloe gestured around the store, “…stuff… to wear but… I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“That’s OK, I can help!” Lauren glanced at Chloe’s left hand. “Do you know if your husband has any particular preferences?”

Not off to a good start. Chloe’s eyes narrowed. “Wife.”

“Excuse me?”

This should not be a difficult concept. “I don’t have a husband. I have a wife.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed. So, do you know what she likes?”

Chloe was not about to discuss Max’s proclivities. She shook her head. “I’m here because I want to up my fem game a little. But I’m not into the frills-and-lace business. I need something cool but… simpler I guess.”

“I can definitely help you there. How about you head into the dressing room and undress, and I’ll bring you some things that will work with your figure, and we can go from there?”

“OK…” Chloe did as she was told. Soon she stood naked in the abnormally spacious dressing room, admiring her tattoos in the well-lit, angled mirrors. She’d started with the sleeve of flowers, thorns, and butterflies on her right arm; the artist had originally sketched it out with a skull in the middle, but Chloe’d had him replace it with an anatomical heart, and add “Max” to the ribbon running through it. Subsequently she’d had more butterflies added, scattering across her back and the top of her chest. After that had come the rattlesnake, winding around her left leg and up the side of her hip, onto her back, and then around her side, its head aimed at her belly button. Max had named it George.

“Hi George, looking good,” Chloe muttered. She liked the way she looked as-is, and was starting to wonder if this whole exercise was a waste of time, when a knock sounded at the door. “I’m ready,” she called.

The door popped open and miss perky-pill stepped inside with an armful of baroque undergarments.

“Whoah, hi!” yelped Chloe, covering herself with her hands. “I’m kind of naked here!”

“Oh, sorry! I forget that some people are modest about that. A few of these are tricky to put on so…” she trailed off, staring at Chloe. “Wow, that’s some incredible ink.”

“Yeah, it is, but it’s not for you. Can I just try these on by myself?”

“Yes, yes, of course, I’m sorry, just call me if you need anything.” And she was gone.

Chloe rolled her eyes. She knew women who loved shopping at this place. What the hell was wrong with them?

But, ultimately, Lauren did come up with something good. Chloe left the store, skateboard under one arm, and on the other, a big shopping bag ostentatiously labeled so every passer-by would know that she’d just purchased fancy new underwear. A guy in a gray business suit, heading the other way on the sidewalk, looked her over, raised an eyebrow. When his eyes finally made it to her face, she gave him the finger.

Fortunately it was only a few blocks to the next stop. Joe’s Barber Shop. She’d been letting her roots grow out for two months. She looked through the glass at a dozen big barber chairs attended by a dozen bearded barbers. The place was busy, and all of the customers were men. _Really playing both sides of the field today,_ she thought. She pulled open the door.

* * *

Max had dropped out of the mountains into the flat, suburban sprawl of Spokane, where she’d stopped for fuel and a plate of decidedly mediocre tacos. Back on the highway, headed southwest into the broad expanse of Eastern Washington, it was getting properly hot. She tied her hair back into a ponytail, rolled up her sleeves, and rolled down the windows, hot wind roaring through the cabin as she got up to highway speed.

The trees, large and numerous just out of Spokane, diminished and then disappeared entirely. She looked out at golden, dry prairie, dotted only with occasional livestock. It was monotonous, but pretty, and on another day, in different light, she might stop to take some photos. But not today. She wanted to be back in her own climate again, back in her own apartment, back in her wife’s arms.

She turned on the radio, found only a few stations. Country music, preaching, and politics. She stuck with the country. Two hundred miles to home.

* * *

Time to get dressed. Chloe dumped the contents of the shopping bag onto the bed, awkwardly donned the new lingerie. At least she hadn’t bought stuff with too many moving parts. Max would laugh her ass off if she saw her struggling to be this girly. She might anyway, when she saw the results. Chloe covered it all with her big, white, terrycloth bathrobe, so she could surprise Max with a big reveal. Not that there was any hiding the hair. A short buzz-cut, natural blonde, all the color left behind on the barber shop floor. Chloe ran her hand through it, feeling oddly naked with nothing around her neck and ears.

She hoped Max liked her this way. When was the last time she’d felt so uncertain of herself? When she’d proposed, obviously. Even though she had already known Max wanted to get married, it had still been surprisingly difficult to pop the question.

But it had certainly worked out well.

Stepping into the kitchen, she was finally back in her element. In contrast to the place they’d shared in college, their new apartment had a nice, big, functional kitchen. Max’s return warranted a special dinner, ossobuco alla milanese, polenta, salad. Who knew what kind of crap Max had been eating on the road. Time to reestablish some Price family standards.

She peeled, chopped, got everything ready. She dredged the meat, browned it, the kitchen filling with the rich smell of cooked veal. She waited, hearing her mother’s admonishment: “Patience, Chloe. The difference between good cooking and great cooking is timing, plain and simple.” You just had to stand there and watch it sizzle. When it was finally nice and dark, she pulled it out, replaced it in the pan with the huge pile of chopped veggies, yielding a satisfying hiss and a gout of steam. Brown ‘em up, a little wine, a jar of tomatoes, meat back in, everything into the oven, set the timer. Easy as pie. Actually quite a bit easier than pie, pie was a pain in the ass. Chloe had never mastered baking.

She turned her attention to the polenta, then heard the lock turn and the door open, boots tapping on the wood floor. Max’s voice proceeded her down the hallway. “Honey, I’m home! What smells so good in here? I… holy shit! Chloe! Your hair!” Max was standing in the door of the kitchen, staring slack-jawed at Chloe in front of the stove.

Chloe ran one hand through her buzzed hair, said a little sheepishly. “Hey babe. How was the drive?”

Max walked slowly up to her, staring. With the boots she was almost as tall as Chloe. “Long. Hot. Chloe, wow, you could have warned me.”

“No way, it’s more awesome as a surprise. Here, feel it, it’s fuzzy.” She took Max’s hand and pulled it to her head, then leaned forward and kissed her. Finally. Max pulled close, her hand running over Chloe’s short hair. Chloe felt the tension ease out of her shoulders.

After a while Max broke off and nuzzled into Chloe’s neck, rested her head on her shoulder, inhaled deeply. She spoke in a low, intimate tone. “Chlo-bear. I missed you so much.”

Chloe matched the quiet tone, holding Max tight. “It’s no good without you, Max.” She held on in silence for a moment, then said, “Special treat. There’s ossobuco in the oven.”

“You’re the best. How long till it’s ready?”

“Hour and a half left on the timer.”

“Oh yeah? How’ll we pass the time?”

“I really have no idea.”

“No?”

“No, no idea.”

“Mmmmmm. Well, before I get _too_ distracted, I am super gross and I am going to take a shower.” Max kissed Chloe’s neck, then pulled away and walked to the doorway. She stooped, pulled off her boots, set them in the hall, then spun back around toward Chloe, unbuttoning the front of her shirt. “Love you!” she said, smiling, undoing the last button, then turned and disappeared toward the shower.

Chloe turned back to the stove, a goofy grin on her face. She felt a little giddy, just having Max back in the house. She finished prepping in the kitchen, listened to the water running, faint notes of Max singing to herself. When she heard the water shut off, she made her own way down the hall, into the bedroom.

Max came in, leaned in the doorway, her damp hair up in a bun, her own robe matching Chloe’s. They were even monogrammed, “MPC”, in the traditional first-last-first style. The set had been a wedding gift from Max’s parents.

Chloe stood, still a little nervous. “You’re really OK with this hair?” Chloe asked. “I can grow it out pretty fast.”

“Chloe, you look totally cute! It’s not like you to be worried about something like this.”

“Just making sure! It’s a big change. And the blue ‘do was from a pretty important day.”

“The best day.” Max smiled. “It’s OK, that’s why we’ve got photos.” She gestured toward the album next to the bed, the one they never showed anybody. There was some racy stuff in there, but also plenty of important, private, memories. The first page held the photo of them William had taken the day he died, and the miserable selfie Max had snapped the night they first kissed, three years later. “A little change isn’t a bad thing. And now I’ve got some fresh material for the Chloe series. Although… from some angles this does make you look like a boy.”

Chloe smirked. “Ah… _that,_ at least, I have prepared for.”

“Oh? How?”

Chloe reached down, untied the belt of her robe, then shrugged it from her shoulders. “So,” she said as it hit the floor, “do I still look like a boy?”

She was wearing a plain, white, boned corset above white, patterned, thigh-high stockings. And nothing else. White fabric against pale skin, bright tattoos, and short-cropped blonde hair, squeaky-clean and, she hoped, super femme.

A whistle escaped Max’s lips, then, “Wowser.”

Chloe’s grin widened and she spun on the ball of her foot, showing off a full 360.

And then Max started giggling. “Oh, Chloe-“

“What?”

“You’ve got… come here.”

“Why?”

“Turn around. There’s… you left the tags…”

Max reached out, still laughing, and Chloe felt her tug at the back of the corset. Something snapped and stung the back of her neck. “Ow!” she yelped.

“There you go,” said Max, dropping a bundle of cardboard tags on the floor. “Continue.”

Chloe stuck out her lower lip, pouting. “Damn it, I knew I’d fuck this up.”

“You’re adorable, you haven’t fucked anything up. Continue.”

“Continue what?”

“Dancing for me, dork! Showing off the new sexy!”

“Right!” And Chloe danced.

* * *

Max lay on the bed, on her stomach, her head on her arms. Beside her, Chloe sat up, her hand playing gently up and down Max’s back. The robes and the corset lay discarded on the floor, but she had retained her stockings. Early evening summertime sun filtered dimly through the shut blinds on the window.

These were Chloe’s favorite moments, when her brain finally quieted down and she could just be. Her fingers traced the curves of her wife’s back, a shape she knew better than her own, but never tired of.

Max’s eyes flicked over her. “I half expected to find a new tattoo under that corset.”

“If only I’d thought of that. Haven’t figured out what to do next though.”

Max reached out, rested a hand on Chloe’s belly. “Property of Maxine Price. No trespassing.”

“As if there was ever any doubt!”

“Just feeling extra possessive right now.”

Chloe’s hand stopped moving, rested in the small of Max’s back. “I hear that. No more work trips for a while, K?”

“Absolutely.”

Down the hall, the kitchen timer beeped. “Yes!” Chloe said, “Dinner time!”

Max raised her head, looked around suddenly. “Hold on a sec.” She got up, adjusted the window blinds, letting in more light.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Here we go. Never know when your muse will take you.”

“Oh, she took me alright.” Max fished around next to the bed, picked up her ancient Nikon. “Sit up a little straighter.”

Chloe had never wanted to a be a model per se, but she had ended up as one anyway. Max never stopped taking photos of her, so inevitably her image could be found in art galleries, ads, shop windows, brochures, not to mention all the Maxine Price Photography marketing material. So far nothing really risqué had ended up in the public eye but… she didn’t think she’d mind. She arched her back a little, smoothed everything out. Max, still naked, orbited around the bed with the camera, snapping the shutter. Soon enough Chloe heard the camera buzz, signaling the end of the film. “OK, enough of your artsy porn. My turn.” She dove across the bed to Max’s side, came up with the instant camera. Max straightened, one hand on her hip, the other letting the camera rest against her thigh.

Chloe snapped the shot, took the photo that emerged, watching it develop in her hand. “I give you… the Pacific Northwestern Horny Shutterbug, captured on film in her mysterious lair!”

Max looked at the photo and laughed. “I’m such a nerd. That’s a keeper.”

Chloe pulled out the album, added the photo, hopped out of bed. “Let’s eat!”

Max picked up their robes, handed one to Chloe. “It is _so_ good to be back.”

Chloe donned her robe, led the way to the kitchen. “It is so good to be... gotten... back to? Right? Right!”

 


End file.
